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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869466">Three Strikes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMiddleGrounds/pseuds/TheMiddleGrounds'>TheMiddleGrounds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU, Teen Titans (Animated Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Barbara Gordon is a BAMF, Canon Disabled Character, Dark, Depression, Family, Gen, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Multiracial Jason Todd, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Red X is his own character, Relationship-centric, Romani Dick Grayson, Team as Family, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:14:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMiddleGrounds/pseuds/TheMiddleGrounds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One for the money.</p><p>Two for the show.</p><p>Three to be ready.</p><p>And four more to go.</p><p>___</p><p>He's a thief; he has been all of his life, and he is more than likely to go to the grave with this fact eternally hanging over his head.  It's the only thing he's good at; that and ruining things for other people.  In some screwed-up way, watching people get what they deserve is even fun for him; it's karmic justice.</p><p>But just like every other person, he has flaws and makes mistakes now and again; one of his biggest was taking on hired jobs.</p><p>And at this rate, they're going to catch up with him.</p><p>---</p><p>Rated M for Mature Language and Violence.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Red X &amp; Bruce Wayne, Red X &amp; Dick Grayson, Red X &amp; Jason Todd, Red X &amp; Original Characters, Red X &amp; Teen Titans, Red X/Barbara Gordon, Red X/Komand'r</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Three Strikes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After months of procrastination and doubting my work, DC released the first promos of Future Slate.  I went up until late that afternoon before finding out that Red X was finally making his comic debut; all while I was plotting up a story using the character.</p><p>And I realized I had to write at least the first chapter of this fanfic before the canon character's identity was revealed, otherwise, I'd feel super shitty about being unable to complete the prologue within 80 days.  And 80 days was plenty enough to finish it.</p><p>Which is how I ended up finishing this entire thing within seven days.</p><p>This first chapter isn't beta read, and I tried my best.  I can only hope my best can be something I can look back on and be proud of.  It's also fairly long, and the first two sections are pretty wordy.  Some sections of this might be cut out/down in the future.</p><p>There's another Author's Note at the bottom, so I'm going to continue there.</p><p> </p><p>  <strong>The Warnings for Chapter One are:</strong><br/>- Racist undertones (specifically only in section 1/8:35 PM)<br/>- Depression-related disassociation/depersonalization (specifically in section 4)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>8:35 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>July 14th, 2012</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Albany, New York</strong>
</p><p>So, let’s get this straight right off the bat; heroes and villains are born, not created. Of course, this also applied to everything in between, but who cared about them, right? Bystanders are just background characters in a world full of opportunity and excitement. Better yet, heroes and villains know who and what they are; they aren’t corrupted by self-doubt or conflicting morals.</p><p>And that’s what made being unconfined to a selective label so fun; you got to do whatever the fuck you wanted, and no one would give a damn about how it was ‘against your code’ because there <em>is </em>no code! It’s all you; nothing else.</p><p>It was honestly fitting that he liked gray, too; it was a mix; the ‘between’ of two contrasts. He could go all day about how great the color was, and at the end still only had one negative to consider; there were hundreds of different shades of gray and he just couldn’t decide on his favorite.</p><p>On the bottom of the list had to be the color of the cell--oh wait, pardon him, apparently this piece of shit was referred to as a <em>room</em>--the guard stood him in front of. He didn’t budge, keeping his eyes on the stained, cracked floor instead. The guard groaned, grabbing his shoulder with a force that hurt, but he still didn’t move. In fact, he dug his shoes into the floor.</p><p>“Oh, for fuc- put your shit on the bed so I can bring your ass down to the mess hall,” the guard spat in a low voice. The teen rolled his eyes, marching forward and tossing the pack onto the bed. He picked at his new clothes; a gray--and definitely <em>also</em> stained--uniform. These joined the ‘awful shades of gray’ club just as quickly. He turned back to the guard, crossing his arms.</p><p>Car is so fucking dead.</p><p>“Well, get over here,” the man snapped. The teen just studied him at a steady pace. He was built like a tank; his temperament not too far from an angry bull and his hands stuck in permanent fists. He was muscly too, and if he had to hazard a guess, he’d been doing security jobs for some time. The man huffed, stomping his foot and pointing outside of the cell-</p><p>Okay, come on, how is he not supposed to call it a cell? It looked like something straight out of a prison movie; how were kids expected to not act out if their ‘temporary home’ looked like their future? He shrugged, then walked forward and out of the cell.</p><p>“I’m getting out by the end of dinner,” he stated easily, lacing his voice with boredom. The guard shoved him forward, and he turned back on him with a glare set to his feet. “Touch me again and you’re leaving in an ambulance.”</p><p>“Sure I am, <em>John Doe</em>,” the guard shot back. He risked a glance up to the guard, watching a grin form on his face that made him want to punch him right now. But patience and his will to get the fuck out of here was greater than that. So, he looked back ahead, shoved his hands into his pockets, and continued down the hall of depressing and barren rooms. “<em>That’s what I thought, kid</em>. You keep your head down and maybe you’ll actually be out before you turn 18.”</p><p>Yeah, whatever you say Bullman.</p><p>And well, since they were giving him a name to work with, he was going to have to take it; he didn’t have the tools and ability to create an entire identity right now. So, as stupid as it was, he was John Doe; the kid who got arrested for shoplifting. Aka, John was about to get fucked up by the kids who were in for way worse things.</p><p>And let it be known, there was no way in hell he was getting beat up today; not right now, anyway.</p><p>The guard gave him a final shove into the mess hall, and John crossed his arms, hunching over and trying to subtly look over the room. Around a hundred boys were chatting and eating, their attention on other things.</p><p>It was easy to spot the cliques in the room; most of them had huddled in tightly in their select groups, often together with their own race. After a quick scan, the answer was glaringly obvious in the form of tattoos, and it formed a knot in his stomach.</p><p>Well, he was white-passing; all he had to do was avoid the developing racists and he’d be fine for as long as he had to be there.</p><p>John let out a sigh, making his way to the serving line. He needed a plan; but with no outside interference, he was already down on any help. Asking for someone to play a role in his escape would also have possible repercussions, and really, he could keep going with the things he couldn’t do. Anything could go wrong, and since he was already rushed enough, it was another tick against him.</p><p>The smell of something verging on the smell of wet dog caught his nose, and John gagged. He stared down at his tray, which had somehow already gotten food on it. John looked back over the line, which he had already made his way through. With a blink, he took the tray and left the line behind.</p><p>He wasn’t spoiled, but <em>come on</em> there was no way he was eating this; it might as well have been fucking regurgitated. . .whatever the fuck was on his plate. He went over to a vacant wall and after checking it was as clean as it could be, sat down and rested his back against it so he could keep constructing his shoddy plan.</p><p>He couldn’t take out the guards; they were hyper-aware of everyone’s existence at any given time. Starting a riot wouldn’t work either; everything would be immediately locked down, and then he’d be stuck inside rather than out. He just needed to find some way to slip through the crowds without being spotted. John glared out across the room, trying hard to pinpoint anything that could help him.</p><p>His eyes stopped at a scrawny teen in the lunch line who seemed to be only a few blinks away from falling asleep. About when he had that thought, the boy fell--slammed, really--into the back of someone else; tray and all. The other boy--his neck bearing a large, deep scar from God knows what--turned on him, his hands already in fists as the contents of the tray stuck to his clothes.</p><p>“Hey, Freak! Wake the <em>fuck </em>up!” the boy shouted, shoving him back. This time, the teen righted himself before knocking into another person and raised his hands defensively. Before the other teen even went to strike him, the boy shrunk and rushed away to a different corner of the cafeteria. Meanwhile, the guards didn’t even flinch; instead, they seemed to be pointedly ignoring the confrontation as a whole.</p><p>Well, hello Mr. Nobody.</p><p>John hummed, then stood up and walked to the corner the boy had settled into. The teen was hiding his face in his knees as curly, deep amber hair draped all over his head. He kept his legs tucked in close when John crouched before him, balancing the tray on his lap. The chances the cafeteria staff would replace his meal was pretty damn slim, and that was most definitely working in his favor.</p><p>“That guy’s a bit of an ass,” he started. The other boy jolted, then sunk back into the small place he had reduced himself to. This time, he seemed just that little bit smaller. John offered a smile. “<em>So</em>, noticed you don’t have a dinner anymore. I’ll give you mine if you help me out.”</p><p>He didn’t have a plan yet per se, but there was already one working into motion just as he talked. He could use him to distract the guards somehow, then, when they were busy with him. . .well, he was figuring it out as he went; he’d get there when he got there.</p><p>The boy didn’t respond, but he did raise his head at the offer. His eyes were glossy, and with more of his face revealed, John could see the small, fading scars that were all over his face. He blinked up at him, his eyes widening and shaking with the rest of his body.</p><p>What the hell was he in for? He was feeling bad for even offering the trash the staff served; the kid looked like he could stand to have a better meal. Sure, he wasn’t dangerously thin, but he wasn’t in good shape, either. Then again, appearances could be misleading; this guy could be an arsonist or a drug dealer or something.</p><p>“Distract the guards for me,” John explained. The boy blinked again, his expression softening. The boy nodded once. He slowly let himself relax, then gradually offered his hand out. John smiled a bit more, giving him the utensils and then the tray while he settled in a better position. “I’m trying not to stay here any longer than I have to.”</p><p>The boy nodded again, but didn’t eat; instead, he just stared at his tray as if waiting for him to leave. John gave a shrug, taking the hint and standing up. He gave the other teen some more distance and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he waited for him to finish. In the meantime, he kept scanning for his next step. This was halted immediately when he made eye contact with a blond boy. The boy turned back to his group; his face red as he pretty much yelled to his friends.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>John set his eyes back onto the dirty floor as the boys all began to leave their seats. Their footsteps turned into the only sound he could hear as he remained where he was. Suddenly, there was a soft snap and they all stopped as one force.</p><p>“And who the fuck do you think you are?” a voice asked. John sighed hard, tilting his head up to look, but simultaneously trying to keep it down all the same. Unlike his soon-to-be accomplice, he had nothing to hide behind; he was all him. And ‘all him’ was going to buy him a hell of trouble in destroying the records when he had finished his little jailbreak.</p><p>“I’m just trying to help out,” he muttered. John wasn’t sure if he bought his own sell here; he was giving the kid some food, but was also absolutely exploiting him for his own good. If karma was real in any shape, it’d either slap him onto his ass or give him a high five and <em>then</em> slap him onto his ass. Still, he shrugged as if it was his pure intention to help him. “What’s so bad about that?”</p><p>There was a light laugh, and when John looked up just enough, he saw the other teen was grinning in a way that made his nerves become cold. He glanced at his companion, only to see that he was talking to a guard.</p><p>Correction: talked <em>at</em>; the kid never said a word back, only listening to the guard whisper.</p><p>“Is your mother a good woman?” the blond boy questioned, his voice taking on a new, lower tone. John snapped his eyes back at them, then shrugged again.</p><p>“Don’t know her,” he mumbled. Now, this was technically true on both fronts; he didn’t know either of his parents, and John Doe didn’t fucking have any. This was hardly a lie, so karma had to give him credit for that.</p><p>“Your dad?”</p><p>“Don’t know him.”</p><p>“You sure don’t know a lot.”</p><p>“Ended up here, didn’t I?”</p><p>The crowd of boys stared at him so long they might as well have burned a hole through him. John stood there, remaining silent as the conversation in the cafeteria stayed unenthused. All he wanted was to get out of this shitty interrogation so his heart would stop beating, but the boys never budged. There was a soft snicker from the leader.</p><p>“Heard from a bird that you got arrested for bitch crimes,” the boy stated. The soft click of metal echoed in John’s ears. “I wonder if you bleed like one too.”</p><p>John caught the boy’s arms before he could stab him, his hands straining against the strength of the larger teen. He looked up into the teen’s eyes, meeting only the cold, empty gaze.</p><p>Funny; he wasn’t interested in getting his ass kicked today.</p><p>He twisted the blond into the wall, slamming his elbow against the side of his head. Before he could recoil properly, he redirected the blade just under his collarbone. The teen screamed, and John kicked his feet out from underneath him to send him to the floor. The other gang members stared at him as he cracked his knuckles, letting their leader continue to scream out for help.</p><p>“Well,” he said simply, looking up to them without any more concern. A few of them shrunk back, and he shrugged. “Who wants to go to the hospital with him?”</p><p>The sound of running brought him to the attention of the guard who had been talking with his accomplice earlier. John dipped down and ripped the switchblade out of the blond, then took off into a sprint around the cafeteria.</p><p>Almost immediately, he mentally kicked himself for running; he absolutely could’ve bullshitted an argument about how it was self-defense and would’ve won! But nope, his first instinct is deciding to pick up a fucking weapon and run; way to escalate, John.</p><p>So hey, might as well lay it out: he’s trapped in a room that’s only <em>so</em> big, there’s only two exits, his help turned out to be a waste of time so far, there’s some racist prick lying on the ground crying for his probably very white mommy--oh, boo hoo, <em>tu estupida puta</em>, they’re definitely drawing guns, and the only thing he has is a fucking switchblade.</p><p>When he got out of this, Car was going to get an early retirement and Miss was going get his life insurance. At least before she joined Car.</p><p>“Get the fuck down!” Bullman yelled. His voice overcame the booming heart rate that was flooding his ears as he weaved in between the lunch tables to avoid the guards. They knew damn well they weren’t about to shoot randomly; innocent--or at least innocent in this case--kids could get hurt, they’d get a lawsuit, and then they’d lose the jobs they really shouldn’t have had in the first place.</p><p>And instead of getting down, some of the boys decided to egg him on. It was a stupid move, but at least it’d cause a bit more chaos. Really, that was his current plan now; stir up enough shit that they’d stop focusing on him.</p><p>He stopped at the end of one table as Bullman and another guard aimed at him. His heart rate accelerated just a bit more, and he grinned at the two of them. John raised his hands, not dropping the knife. The havoc only became more aggressive as his eyes darted between them.</p><p>The other guards were joining, so he’d have to pick fast.</p><p>Bullman opened his mouth and took another step closer; too close. John twisted into a spin, and in one fluid motion, threw the knife across his shoulder and at him. The knife lodged into Bullman’s hand, and he let his gun fall to the floor. The other guard raced to him, but John ducked to the Bullman’s side.</p><p>He ran across the distance of his table to the next one, leaping up onto it and clattering trays and food together. He ran across the length of the table, sticking his middle finger up at the guards as they continued to aim at him but not do anything.</p><p>The next step in defenses would be armored guards; he just had to figure out how to get out before they arrived. Then he had to steal keys or find an alternative way of breaking out. Since there were no windows in the room, he would probably have to stick with the keys.</p><p>A gunshot rang out, and he winced as it shrieked past his ear. He didn’t stop running until he hit the end of the table, and even then, he only took it as a chance to grab a tray on the way down. It wouldn’t protect him from gunshots, but as he thought, it turned out to be a great projectile when he threw it at a guard.</p><p>An alarm began to blare, and John’s heart stopped for a second. He charged for an exit, only to find each one blocked off by either a typical guard or one wearing heavier armor. He darted into the middle of the room, his heartbeat effectively choking him.</p><p>He needed keys, <em>he needed fucking keys</em>-</p><p>“Put your hands up right goddamn now!” one of the men ordered, his voice so harsh he almost flinched at it. The other boys put their hands behind their heads, facing down at the table with all their previous hype deflated.</p><p>Great, there went that plan; and pretty much every other one he had scraped together on the fly.</p><p>See, this is why patience was important. He just didn’t have enough to spare.</p><p>“Right now!” the man repeated, his tone somehow taking up a louder volume. John flared his nose, raising his arms and still trying to think of a way out of this.</p><p>The first answer was: if he’s willing to play dead, he could absolutely get out if he let himself get shot in a non-fatal place. It was a hell of a last resort, but he also wasn’t trying to actually get killed, so that was going to have to go into the plan ‘I Guess I’ll Try Death’ column.</p><p>There had to be another way; somewhere to flee and take his chance at escape. He was supposed to be a fucking genius; a prodigy even. But then again, how many Nimrods ended up in juvie? Probably a few, but that wasn’t helping his point, so. . .</p><p>Think; just fucking think-</p><p>A loud thud came from behind him, and he willed himself not to turn around; he wanted to have control at least this time.</p><p>Don’t think about that.</p><p>The armored guards flooded the room, and he flexed his fingers slightly as one of them approached him. The guard turned him around, then grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back so hard it almost felt like they’d snap right off.</p><p>“You fucking kids get worse every fucking year,” he muttered, gripping him hard enough that he knew for a fact <em>that</em> was leaving bruises. John bit his lip until it ripped open just a bit, glaring at the wall where a pair of guards were kneeling and tending to something he couldn’t quite see.</p><p>But then a set of gunshots echoed into the room.</p><p>The guard let go of him, and a thud came from behind him yet again. He turned around to see the man slumped over on the floor, his body limp but his eyes trapped in pain. He screamed, and John took a step back to look at another guard aiming his gun at the fallen man. His eyes were half-lidded, and he didn’t seem all that concerned with what he had done. The other boys began to mutter amongst themselves, panic etched in their voices.</p><p>“McKinley, what are you-” someone began, only for McKinley to spin on him and shoot him all the same. John shut his eyes before the bullets hit, turning his head away. And with this, the cafeteria became the equivalent of Pandora’s box.</p><p>The boys shouted and screamed over each other, rushing out of the room as more and more bodies fell to the floor. He opened his eyes to watch as the remaining guards pulled back from McKinley; yelling and shoving into each other as McKinley fired at them. John didn’t stick around to bother figuring out McKinley’s intentions; the only thought in his mind now running away from it all.</p><p>The sickly clicks laid in the back of his throat as if he’d been forced to choke down the viscera himself, but he had to throw it back from his mind as he joined the herd of people pushing to leave.</p><p>Everyone shoved past him, and John could only keep running; it was his best skill after all. Bodies tripped over others and he was constantly avoiding the threat of being crushed between different walls as the group coursed through the building. As they moved together in a disorganized wave, a new alarm screamed at them.</p><p>He slipped out of the swarm the second he could, ducking into an alternate hall that was a fresh familiarity; the hall that led to the front entrance. A few others had made their way there as well; taking advantage of the new routes that were left unlocked by the override of a new emergency. John didn’t stop long, moving even faster as he made his way through even more halls and down into the back of the building.</p><p>He couldn’t leave from the front; they’d just round them all backup.</p><p>Cold air washed his hair back from his face as he burst through the door and jumped down into the open lot that was probably meant for deliveries. He didn’t bother thinking too hard on it, only beelining for the barbed fence as other footsteps followed him.</p><p>John jumped up and latched on to climb the fence. He scaled it with ease, swinging his body over the barbs and landing onto the other side with a roll. He went up into a crouched position, watching as the other boys who had joined him tried their own method of jumping the fence. Some of them made it--taking off the second they landed--but the others gave up and went to find a nonexistent alternative. When the last one had left, he breathed in shakily.</p><p>Okay, what the fuck just happened in the last. . .however long?</p><p>He didn’t get a chance to properly think about it before he heard sirens approaching from the distance; both firetrucks--which were further out from what he could tell--and police.</p><p>Honestly, if they were going to go chasing for someone to help the situation, they should’ve called Superman’s name. And because he would prefer that he didn’t show up, he didn’t say it out loud himself.</p><p>Instead, he let his heartbeat die down a bit more before he finally stood up off the grass. He breathed in once more, the faint scent of smoke joining in before he finally just blinked and turned around.</p><p>Just don’t think about it, and it’s not your problem or concern.</p><p>He sighed, brushing his hair out of his face as he continued to leave; trying to avoid the paths of the other escapees. There was no way in hell he was walking--or even running--all the way back, but he also had no money and quite literally looked like an escaped convict, so it was probably his only choice.</p><p>Still, John Doe was now going to have to be hanged up in the records of retired characters; it was only right since that persona was pretty much dead already.</p><p>John Doe</p><p>2012 - 2012</p><p>X</p><p>
  <strong>Unknown Time</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>July 14th, 2012</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, New York</strong>
</p><p>It felt like forever before his heartbeat felt normal again. Meanwhile, he spent that entire time slipping in and out of alleys as he reevaluated just how far the base was from the detention facility. Sure, he was going to call Cal to pick him up, but he wasn’t having luck getting money for a payphone, and asking someone straight-up could only put attention on him; wearing a uniform after a detention facility had a police-related incident--and breakout--would not stand out.</p><p>Car deserved to go to hell for fucking with him like this, and he already knew Ada would make excuses and let him get away with it; he always took loyalty over a new guy who had--admittedly--broke into their base as a first introduction. But hey, just like him to end up falling in with the wrong crowd again and again.</p><p>He stared at the 24/7 laundromat across the street, stretching out as he prepared to head inside. While he stretched, he saw the forming bruises that were appearing around his wrists and groaned. He shoved his hands into his pockets, checking around the street to see that it was slower than usual. Traffic wasn’t too bad this time of day, so aside from a couple of people honking their horn at him, he managed to run to the other side with no complications.</p><p>The atmosphere in the building was nearly surreal; there were only a handful of people, and even then they seemed half-dead. He glanced up to the TV hanging from above, only briefly watching the news that played. Instead, he was a bit more focused on the time.</p><p>God, he had been out for a while; it was already 10:12. He didn’t want to think about statistics, but he knew that he really just wanted to get back to the base and pass out on his cot for 16 hours straight; he had to prepare for the heist and all that grand jazz. He couldn’t do his job if he was five seconds from passing out into a laser grid.</p><p>He lingered by the entrance for another minute, watching the TV properly now. Initially, he didn’t recognize the burning building, but when he did, he chewed at his nail. No matter what the firefighters did, it just didn’t seem like it wanted to go out; and seeing how some of the coloring bordered on light purple and blue rather than red, it probably wasn’t natural either.</p><p>Well, there definitely wasn’t something natural at the facility either in that case.</p><p>But hey, two birds with one stone; he didn’t have to grovel at Ada’s feet to get him to get rid of his DNA if the physical files were gone and hadn’t been registered yet. Still, it was probably safer to follow up with him.</p><p>He shaked his head, then walked up to the desk and rang the bell that was helpfully set there. After a few moments, a short old woman walked up with a tired smile. He let his eyes drop to the floor instead of looking up at her.</p><p>Just try to lay low.</p><p>“It’s late for a young man like you to be out here,” she stated, making him have to repress a snort. She sighed. “You look like a mess, sweetie, is everything okay?”</p><p>“I’ve had a bad day. I also kind of need to use your phone,” he replied. She hummed, and the phone clicked off it’s port. She offered it and he took it with a smile. “Thank you, Ms.”</p><p>“Of course, dear.”</p><p>He typed in Car’s number without even looking at the buttons; at this point, calling him when shit didn’t go right was pretty much ritual. He was going to miss it when the heist was over; he was the only person who was actually any bit sane. As the old woman left, he set the phone against his ear.</p><p>“<em>‘Ello</em>,” the voice began, “<em>who am I speaking to?</em>”</p><p>“Tell Car he’s fucking dead to me, pick me up outside that shitty coffee place we met at, and please, for the love of <em>God</em> get me some clothes and contacts,” he whispered in a sharp voice. There was a long lull in sound, and faintly, he could hear Cal scream, ‘Newsy says you’re fucking dead to him!’ which was rebutted with ‘Tell him to go fuck himself!’. Cal huffed, his voice becoming clear again.</p><p>“<em>And points to being the most resourceful and independent fucker goes to the kid who’s supposed to be in high school,</em>” Cal joked. Newsy opened his mouth to make a comment, then just rolled his eyes and snorted. “<em>Oh, my bad. College. Since you’re apparently too good for us, aren’t ya’?”</em></p><p>“<em>Cal.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Dude, you got arrested for shoplifting. That is beyond sloppy.</em>”</p><p>“Cal, you’re dead to me too.”</p><p>“<em>Aw, but I liked being alive.</em>”</p><p>Newsy hung up the phone, but even as he did, he couldn’t help but smile at the comment. Sure, he was still absolutely going to nail Car in the face, but Cal would probably try to find eighty reasons why it’d be counterproductive and idiotic to beat up a teammate. It’d be a futile effort in the end, but at least Cal was there for him.</p><p>X</p><p>
  <strong>11:57 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Yonkers, New York</strong>
</p><p>Newsy didn’t really do angry; he did frustrated and pouty and angsty teenager. But today that mask had slipped right off and left only the rare emotions that Newsy just didn’t have the range for.</p><p>He wanted to punch him; punch Miss and Ada and make them stop twisting it all on him. He wanted to punch a lot of people; not just as Newsy.</p><p>He wanted them to stop fucking doubting him; know he’s right where he belongs and that he didn't want to leave this life yet.</p><p>Car was the hitter, Ada was the mastermind hacker, Cal was the smooth talker, and Miss was the thief; it was a full team that had just taken him in because they liked having a scapegoat. But he had endured it all because he had wanted this all to work out.</p><p>He wasn’t vestigial; he was part of one goddamn whole.</p><p>But hey, when have they ever been the rest of his whole? Even just in the last twenty-four hours, Car and Miss had purposely gotten him arrested. In the end, they were going to get what they deserved, but he’d get away scot-free; he was overdue for a proper win.</p><p>Villains were always stopped in the end; heroes fall. But people in between are a different species; they’re untouchable; they’re him.</p><p>Everything in his body was heavy while walking away, and his drive was in a casket as they continued to yell and argue about just who fucked up. He made his way up to the apartment upstairs, biting his nails as he headed into his room. He fell back onto the pillows, sighing hard.</p><p>He was just so fucking tired right now; all he wanted was sleep.</p><p>Everything would be better tomorrow.</p><p>X</p><p>
  <strong>Unknown Time</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>July, 2012</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Unknown Location</strong>
</p><p>He had gotten his stupid, momentary wish.</p><p>His lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear anything; it was only him and his thoughts.</p><p>Normally, it’d be Ada who yelled at him, but right now he couldn’t fill that role. So instead, Cal did it.</p><p>They got more of their cut than they were meant to; he should’ve been happy; hell, both of them should’ve been happy. Instead, there was nothing to do but listen to himself think while Cal tried to speak to nothing but an empty cast. But was it really even right to call it a cast? It didn’t fix anything.</p><p>He was supposed to be Newsy right now. But Newsy just wasn’t available; he was wrapped up in every possible emotion to the point where just thinking hurt. Every second he spent sitting there gnawed at his subconscious and grew root to doubt after doubt.</p><p>How many people had he killed at this point? If the guards weren’t dead--and really, he couldn’t let himself think about that right now, then it’d be two.</p><p>He’s not even eighteen and he’s killed two people.</p><p>Cal’s facial expressions made his chest ache, yet he could only distance himself further from reading them. He knew if he actually took the time to focus in and recognize the emotions, it would make him feel so much worse; make it all real.</p><p>He just had to be numb, and everything would be over.</p><p>X</p><p>
  <strong>11:39 AM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>August 24th, 2012</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Jump City, California</strong>
</p><p>Ada’s crew had agreed to a strict ‘No Contact After The Heist’ rule, and so far, he and Cal had done well on that; they didn’t see each other at any point after taking the money. For Cal, there was, to Morgan’s surprise, not really anything that he had to give up during the split. Meanwhile, Newsy didn’t exist, period; there were no ends to tie up or leave behind. And while Cal had stated he wanted to move out of the country instead of back to his home state, California had a calling for him.</p><p>In terms of ‘How to be a Bad Criminal’ 101, going back to previous ties would probably be a fatal mistake. But technically, they weren’t his; they were Cal’s. Everyone got nicknames from the places they came from, like Cal being short for California and Nevada for Ada. Why they pronounced it A-Dah rather than A-Duh was beyond him, but that didn’t really matter much either, did it?</p><p>On more important things, he knew that he had to have one last heist before he finally set aside the thievery for a while; sure, he had enough money to last him a while, but come on, he was someone who had needs. Very petty, very stupid, and very childish needs.</p><p>And by God he was going to get them achieved by some form. So, after crafting a new identity--something that killed a cut of his money, enjoying California, and getting properly settled into a cheap but nice enough apartment, he really only had a few more things to do before he would just be doing. . .nothing much.</p><p>Well, he did have a life; he could go to a party every day if he wanted, and he had plenty of options for company anytime he wanted to go for them; he had already made tons of friends here. Then after he was legitimately done stealing and being a general criminal, he could just fade into the background and keep living his life.</p><p>But then again, it was kind of boring.</p><p>He took a bite out of his sandwich, chewing it lazily as he watched blurry news reports on the Teen Titans; Jump City’s resident heroes. Morgan hummed as a clip of Starfire making symbols with her green trails played.</p><p>She seemed so happy just to be doing anything; a smile clear on her face whenever the camera focused on it. Everything about her was graceful; every turn and spin and just. . .well, <em>everything</em>. And she was beautiful to boot; her green eyes and fiery red hair stunning; unnatural and wonderfully unique. His heart beat softly as he sighed.</p><p>Damn it, was he getting a crush?</p><p>Well, how couldn’t he? She was in his age group--assuming her race’s years were similar to humans’--and just about every teenager who talked about them always brought up which of them they wanted to date. The Teen Titans were local celebrities, and in honesty, he was entitled to a little celebrity crush.</p><p>But it was going to make it creepy seeing how he had to break into the Titan’s Tower and she <em>lived</em> there. Even that thought made him uncomfortable, so he swallowed it down with another bite of his sandwich.</p><p>So, enough fawning over her; he had much bigger concerns.</p><p>Having formed a little over a year ago, the Teen Titans only had five members in Jump City; and after an incident that had--thankfully--taken place some months before, he didn’t have to take care of an earth-manipulating blonde. He didn’t know where she went, but he could really care less; unlike the others, she could’ve crushed him inside the tower like a bug, then put it back together while someone else cleaned up the mess. So, really, he was grateful she wasn’t going to be a problem.</p><p>Raven was. . .definitely something; he could probably safely assume she wasn’t human. She was also his biggest threat to his plans; her control over her powers was better than the others, and she could threaten someone while keeping a deadpan expression. The only way he had a chance at keeping her from causing a problem would be getting <em>rid</em> of her ability to make one. For a smash-and-grab, no thanks; he’d rather walk all the way back to New York and head into his charred cell.</p><p>Starfire was also dangerous, but she was more temperamental than Raven; she could be egged on easily, and if he was ever in a situation of having to fight her, his best bet was to keep teasing her and make her falter in her attacks. It would likely increase his chance of being straight up removed from the face of the earth, but hey, a weakness is a weakness.</p><p>Cyborg, being something of his namesake, appeared to be waterproof; but if he tried hard enough, he could still probably do something to prevent him from attacking as effectively as he could. Regardless, what he lacked in speed made no difference since he had an arsenal of technology and weapons at his disposal. This could make getting in an issue if he had an impact on the tower’s construction, but it was still better than trying to take him on directly.</p><p>Beast Boy was a kid, enough said. If he wasn’t the youngest, he’d be surprised; but Beast Boy was easy to distract, and could hardly control some aspects of his animalistic instincts. Overall, he would be more annoying than anything else since he was unpredictable; and Morgan didn’t really want to have to kick an animal, even if it was actually a metahuman.</p><p>Call it a moral benefit to sneaking in over showing up to their front door with a bazooka or some other crazy shit.</p><p>But then there was Robin; the only one who’s abilities were forged and born from discipline. Also forged from assets from Batman, but that was the least of his focus.</p><p>Robin, over everyone else, was going to be the real problem; he was determined, and he refused to just back down, even when he was scared. And while Morgan wouldn’t describe himself as a coward--it wasn’t even the right word when referring to his opposition to facing him--he wasn’t interested in any type of interaction with Robin.</p><p>Although technically he was breaking in to spite <em>him</em>; prove his values weren’t meant to be as black and white as he had made them out to be.</p><p>Furthermore, he was better than Robin; stronger and faster than he’d ever be. He had nothing to prove to him. But Robin was also born to be a hero, and he was born to be. . .no one.</p><p>Morgan sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. He stretched, looking around the outdoor seating of the cafe. Then, he turned off the screen to stare at his reflection.</p><p>For the new identity, he had to change a lot more than usual; typically it’d just be the eyes, but this time it was a much bigger change. Now, instead of green eyes, they were gray. Additionally, he had cut his hair shorter, and had already dyed it dark brown.</p><p>He had even considered piercings, but the upkeep would just become a hassle, and he couldn’t think of anything he wanted that he didn’t decide against a few minutes later. Then again, it’d be an identifier, so maybe it was best he had nothing.</p><p>He squinted at his image with a small yawn.</p><p>Did he look tired? Because now that he looked at it, he kind of did. He pushed strands of hair out of his face, looking harder and only seeing the same thing.</p><p>He didn’t <em>feel</em> like he needed to sleep; he had spent about twenty hours clocked out on his bed yesterday because someone decided to go all out before college started back up. Maybe he just slept bad; his body was aching, and while some of it had disappeared with the coffee, it still lingered.</p><p>Morgan finished off his food, then shoved his tablet into his messenger bag and left the money on the table. He stared at Titans Tower as he walked down the boulevard and back home, humming to himself.</p><p>The tower was temporarily vacant, and while it would be a great opportunity to try getting in now, it was probably better if he studied the layout first.</p><p>However the fuck he was gonna do that.</p><p>Maybe he shouldn’t have screwed over Ada; he might have been able to hack their security, and admittedly, Morgan was a bit shit at that kind of stuff. But then again, he was also the guy who screwed over <em>Ada</em>--one of the smarter guys he had the displeasure of knowing; he’d find a way to get inside by himself.</p><p>X</p><p>
  <strong>1:57 AM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>August 26th, 2012</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Titan’s Tower, Jump City, California</strong>
</p><p>Fact: Cyborg was involved in creating the security for the tower, not Robin.</p><p>You see, the key difference between those two things is that Cyborg had connections with S.T.A.R Labs, and S.T.A.R Labs made the tower. Had Robin or Batman been involved, it wouldn’t have been so government official in every way possible.</p><p>So, after twenty-four hours of straight hacking--and trying so hard not to fuck up on the way, a ton of coffee, and roughly seven hours of sleep, he had finally gotten into the tower through means that were slipping out of his head faster than he could even try to recall them.</p><p>Maybe he should reschedule and get in a better nap.</p><p>But then again, this had been a period of time he might not get a repeat of anytime soon, and if he didn’t take his chance soon, he might lose it entirely. On top of that, the last time he checked--aka ten seconds ago--the titans were down a member and were still out on a mission downtown. Since they typically stayed behind for damage control, he had a while before they’d get back; so better now than never, right?</p><p>Wait, that wasn’t the line, was it?</p><p>With a shrug, he stepped out the elevator and walked to the keypad that was set next to a large set of metal doors. Morgan examined the keys, forced to fight the urge of biting his nails because of his gloves. He’d already handled the cameras, but that just left him to crack open everything else.</p><p>There were a couple of tricks to figuring out a code; marked off numbers and fingerprints being the most common. But with the tech all being new and not in his typical range of security, he was going to have to go with the classic method and hope they didn’t clean it. He dropped his bag and got to work with dusting off the fingerprints.</p><p>In the end, the numbers he got were zero, one, seven and nine; but with the code being six digits, that meant there were repeat numbers.</p><p>Morgan let his heart sink a bit as he pressed the keys in. The first attempt failed, and he bit at his lip, trying again with the same confidence as before.</p><p>Come on, this was an obvious one.</p><p>The keypad chimed and something hissed from next to him. He put a hand to his chest, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His heart was beating rapidly, even with the success, and it was a distraction if anything. He flexed his hands, staring at the input.</p><p>July 19th, 2011: the day the Teen Titans debuted as a team.</p><p>Morgan turned to see the room had opened up. He smiled, picking his bag back up and heading inside. His heart lifted as he saw the glass cases that proudly showcased the victories--as well as general history--of the Titans. He stopped just beyond the doors, feeling small amongst the various displays that were put together. His shoulders fell as he grinned to review everything.</p><p>If he stole even half of this shit, he would be set for life; villains would give pretty much anything to get some of their things back; and heroes were the exact same. Morgan walked up to the centerpiece display of Slade’s mask, leaning in to look at it more closely.</p><p>Like Terra--the blonde earth manipulator, Slade wasn’t seen after the shitstorm that hit Jump City; apparently now--as far as anyone was aware--the only thing that remained of him was this.</p><p>Talk about taking actual trophies.</p><p>He could take this, and it would <em>definitely</em> piss off Robin, but then he’d probably assume that it was Slade taking it back; and that didn’t have the right tone he was going for in his heist. He didn’t really even have one set yet, but the idea of Robin being pissed off that his souvenirs had been taken was an interesting one; he’d never seen him all that mad over anything.</p><p>Still, Morgan was going to need to decide before the Titans came back, and there was way too much to look at. He couldn’t tell what half of the shit was or where it had come from, yet it all lured him forward just the same. Faintly, it reminded him of better times, but those things were best off in the past, so he pushed the thought back.</p><p>Morgan cruised through the room, scanning each display for something that might have been a bit more of a stab into the Titans’ backs. But the longer he went on, the more he was aware of a thin layer of dust that was on some of the glass.</p><p>How long would it even take them to notice he stole something? That idea made him smile a bit wider. He could just get away with it and then. . .</p><p>Holy fuck, this was his last job.</p><p>That statement hit him with finality, and Morgan felt his throat catch. He stared at his reflection through the glass of a smaller display, his heart beating in a way that felt sluggish and all too hurt at the same time. He swallowed down the lump, but it still choked him as he closed his eyes and inhaled.</p><p>This was his entire life that he was just going to abandon; there wouldn’t be any more thrill or petty vengeance to be served.</p><p>What was his life without fucking someone else’s up? Without fucking with his own?</p><p>He wasn’t white or black; instead, if he threw this away, he would legitimately just be. . .nothing; the outlying swath of gray that’s painted over into one color to match the rest of the image.</p><p>But didn’t he already lose himself? He was Morgan; he was Newsy; he was John Doe. He was so many other fucking people, and being a thief was his life; his entire purpose. Without it, he’s just. . .dead.</p><p>Maybe a while ago, that wouldn’t have been so bad; but right now, he wanted to live.</p><p>He opened his eyes, letting out a shallow exhale as he reviewed the room with less energy. As he did, he finally ended up in front of a set of opaque displays.</p><p>What was even the point of having displays you couldn’t see through? Unless, there was something particularly dangerous that needed to stay inside.</p><p>He hazarded a tap, and felt the metal underneath his gloves. Morgan glanced down at the keypad that was nearby, which indicted that one of the displays was marked with red; occupied. He navigated to that one, tilting his head and trying to guess what could be behind it.</p><p>It was polished lead, so whatever it was could potentially be radioactive. Now you see, that would <em>definitely</em> get Robin’s attention, and he’d be sent on a random chase around the city. The problem was he couldn’t just break it open without possibly poisoning himself.</p><p>Complications, complications; can’t shit just be simple for five minutes?</p><p>But benefit: this was <em>designed </em>off of Batman’s work, not S.T.A.R Labs’.</p><p>Morgan maneuvered the controls of the keypad, smiling softly as he moved past the security that Robin had set up. And no, Robin wasn’t an idiot; he just left loopholes where Batman wouldn’t have. He might have learned from Batman, but he didn’t ask him for help either; probably for the best, too.</p><p>The lock clicked, and Morgan looked up to see it opening. He walked to the display as the contents were revealed.</p><p>Inside was a black outfit--fitted with a tattered up cape--with an exaggerated ruby red ‘X’ over the heart. Over the skull mask’s right eye was a similar symbol. The gloves were something along the lines of ash gray, and stood out a bit more distinctively from the rest of the suit; giving it a look that vaguely resembled Batman’s. However, it didn’t look like anything he’d seen anyone wearing lately.</p><p>So, where did they get this from?</p><p>He studied it, a smile growing on his face as he went over every feature. It didn’t look as dangerous as it was being made out to be. Instead, it felt like it was calling him to come take it as his own; everything else be damned. It was a new identity all in itself; anonymity amongst a world that hungered for knowledge that he just wasn’t in the mood to give.</p><p>Well, who said he <em>had</em> to stop doing what he loved? Sure, he had said it a couple of times, but he was a lying sack of shit who’s choices could change at any moment; he was allowed to make a different decision here and there.</p><p>And here’s his new one: that shade of gray was his favorite.</p><p>X</p><p>
  <strong>12:22 AM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>August 31st, 2012</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Jump City, California</strong>
</p><p>The blur between the 26th and the 28th could best be described as him hitting the bed, coming out a near-comatose state to shove toast into his mouth, and then falling right back asleep but on the couch instead. Rinse and repeat with different foods--as well as surfaces, and he woke up on the 29th wondering what the fuck he had done in the last 72 hours.</p><p>Then, when he discovered the suit in his duffle bag, it all came flooding back to him in several rounds while he tried to inform people that he was in fact still alive and not suffering from a massive hangover. And well, if it wasn’t illegal, he would be bragging to everyone he knew.</p><p>But instead, he kept it in a box in his closet as he tried to think about what he was exactly going to do with it. Even after checking to make sure the world didn’t explode and he had caught up with all the meaningful news, he still hesitated to really even touch it.</p><p>Until he eventually did.</p><p>The first thing to address was the fact that it didn’t fit him; it was a bit small. He could tell just looking at it, but actually adjusting it to fit him turned out to be easier than he anticipated. Whoever made it seemed to make specifically so that the original wearer would seem bigger than they actually were.</p><p>It was also as professional as suits could get; the material was strong enough to provide some protection--about on the level of kevlar, but was still lightweight and flexible. All the same, it didn’t really look like it had combat in mind.</p><p>At least until he realized that it got even better.</p><p>Because whichever genius designed this thing found a way to make it project energy; energy that could become a physical thing and act differently based on each setting; a setting he’s lucky wasn’t on pure projection when it launched a giant, sticky red X over his mouth.</p><p>To say the least it wasn’t fun ripping it off like a bandaid the first time, and it wasn’t fun ripping it off slowly the second time either.</p><p>So, what better way to figure out the suit than to take it out for a test run with some gear?</p><p>Morgan stretched, breathing steadily as he paced on top of a giant box in the warehouse. It was very much night at this point, and aside from the flickering lights overhead, it was a bit dark inside. He set his hands to his sides, looking down off the box.</p><p>He wasn’t scared of heights; it was the unforgiving stop that concerned him.</p><p>He shook out his body, then started off with a series of frontward facing flips; first off the box and then in the open space that was available. Once he figured he had done enough, he moved onto the more complex flips and movements; his heart beating with wonderful fits of adrenaline as he went through each motion with seamless effort.</p><p>Every action felt natural; free and unstoppable. It was hard for him to stop moving, especially when it just seemed wrong to let his excitement die down; he needed this more than anything else in the world.</p><p>He let out a short cheer in between his movements, flipping up onto the top of a medium-sized box. Going with the momentum, he pulled his grappling hook from where he had attached it; aiming it up to the beams. The force drew him up with a speed he wasn’t prepared for, but he moved with the motions all the same; unhooking it and rehooking it wherever it provided the most fluidity.</p><p>He unhooked the hook one more time, swinging over the beams as his heart just kept pounding. He landed on the beams, then swept down to the floor and ran out of the building.</p><p>Morgan-</p><p>He’s not Morgan; he’s whatever the fuck he wants to be right now; and right now, he’s motherfucking Red-X.</p><p>Red-X sprinted down the path from the warehouse, and hitched his foot on the edge of the building as he shot his hook up to grab a higher ledge. The force flung him up into the night sky, the feeling of the wind passing over his body nothing but a sweet euphoria.</p><p>He kept moving, the lights of Jump City merging into one massive blur beneath him as he travelled out of their reach. Red-X latched onto a crane over a building, pulling himself up in a monumental rush. He unhooked just as he landed in a crouch, and he breathed in as the entirety of the city laid restless and undisturbed.</p><p>He hadn’t seen anything like this in years, and his heart only continued to pound even after the fun had been long gone. But he didn’t want it to stop.</p><p>For the first time in a long time, he was alive; and it was so good.</p><p>X</p><p>
  <strong>2:51 AM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>September 4th, 2012</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Thunder &amp; Lighting Tech., Jump City, California</strong>
</p><p>Someone was following him. After getting his instincts and training closer into check over the last few days, it was becoming obvious to him; and it was really sticking to him as if it were some kind of anxiety glue. Red-X just kept moving, letting it fall further into the backdrop as he made his way into the building.</p><p>As it turned out--and really, he should have known--the suit needed a source of energy for the projection to work. After a bit of research, he managed to pin it down to one pretty specific, and god damn rare, material.</p><p>Oh, also it was fucking unstable, so he was quite literally a ticking timebomb; they weren’t keeping it as a trophy, they were keeping it because the fucking thing wasn’t able to be safely destroyed. Cue a lesson on not taking things that don’t belong to you, blah blah blah he’s going to die.</p><p>The minute he got enough expertise on how to not have dangerous, unstable chemicals explode half the block he was absolutely replacing it. He wasn’t going to waste the suit, though; he had gotten used to it over the last few days and could use it like it had always been his. And well, it might as well have been.</p><p>He had even gotten invested enough to try and track down Xenothium in California, but as an artificial compound that wasn’t meant for the public, he was left to a wild goose chase. In the end, he had even hacked into warehouse companies to find out if there was anything useful there.</p><p>This led him to Thunder &amp; Lightning. Unlike the other lists of items, they had a few things made of Xenothium stored in the building. A start-up company, the best thing they had going for them <em>was</em> Xenothium; they were the only local place that actually made anything with it all. And one of those things just happened to be a prototype scanner that had been tossed for it’s dysfunctionality. Since Xenothium couldn’t be safely destroyed with, say, fire, they had to hold it for storage until they could properly get rid of it.</p><p>The gasp jolted him out of his thoughts, and without thinking, he turned around to face his five shadows.</p><p>Of course, who else but the Teen Titans would have ruined his little--totally harmless--trip for more supplies? Fucking Wonder Woman? That’d be interesting; very dangerous, but still interesting nonetheless.</p><p>They all stared at him, faces on varying levels of confusion whether it was raised eyebrows or fully dropped jaws. He snorted a little at Robin’s blatant surprise, but didn’t let it show; instead he let his hands close into fists.</p><p>“Red X? I thought <em>Robin</em> was Red X!” Beast Boy said before anyone else could even seem to think about speaking. Red-X raised an eyebrow at that since it meant three particularly strong things: 1. Robin had likely made the costume, so that explained a few questions and thoughts he had about it. 2. Red-X had not picked a creative name in the slightest, and 3. Robin, Batman’s honored and beloved protege, had used unstable elements in a suit he intended to wear and use.</p><p>If he wasn’t ready to fight, he would be holding Robin in a headlock while reiterating these points; what idiot uses unstable components when he hasn’t even left fucking highschool?</p><p>Red-X just pushed back the comments, a smile forming on his face as he raised his hands and felt the energy that was surging between his fingers and into his palms.</p><p>“Think again,” he retorted, the low, near mechanical tone leaving him with ease. The suit had a voice modification installed, and really, he couldn’t use it enough; it was just another part of making Red-X <em>him</em>.</p><p>The energy burst out of his palms, and the group scattered out of the way; then spread out further to get to their own points of advantage. And everything he had learned finally became part of reality.</p><p>Raven was the only one built for constant defense; catching her with her guard down could leave her vulnerable.</p><p>His figure faded into nothing as he activated his cloaking, and he pulled up behind her as her shield dropped. She joined it soon after; her head hitting the floor harder than he might have expected. He crouched down to her level, tilting his head and staring at her for only a moment with another solid X in his hand before it was shot out of his grip.</p><p>Starfire was driven, but not as mobile in enclosed spaces; he had to outpace her and avoid her fire. Then move in when it was safe.</p><p>He backflipped out of the way up until he hit the opposing wall, and when he did, he used it as a point to jump off, then jump right off of her back. His feet caught the beams above her, and he continued to leap away from her; leaping from beam to beam. When she fired at him again, there wasn’t much else nearby for him to jump at; so, he launched as far as he could.</p><p>He turned back to unleash a different charge of energy, aiming it towards the two columns adjacent to her.</p><p>Red-X initially felt a pang in his chest from hearing her scream, but threw it away just as quickly; she was durable and would be perfectly fine. He landed on another beam, then straightened up and let out a small sigh.</p><p>A roar came over his shoulder, and he spun around to see Beast Boy shifting.</p><p>If there was supposed to be a proper method of handling a giant green gorilla baring his teeth at him, he didn’t know it. So instead, he formed another solid X and shoved it in his mouth like it was a carjack. He jumped away before Beast Boy could get any more unpredictable ideas.</p><p>But watching said gorilla try to pull it out of his mouth had him snickering. Then, watching him turn into a hippo--which dislodged the X, only to fall to the floor of the warehouse, was even better.</p><p>Was that all he had?</p><p>Seeing how Beast Boy was still lying on the floor dazed by the time Red-X got down: <em>yes</em>. Cyborg on the other hand had not yet started.</p><p>He didn’t have much of a plan for dealing with Cyborg; instead, he just connected the boxes the larger teen was in between and let them crash together. He wasn’t deterred in the slightest, because as the other titans began to recover, Cyborg just smashed through the boxes.</p><p>Was it his best idea to use wood to defeat a person that’s several different types of metal? No. Was it a funnier one nonetheless? Yes. Did he just come up with a much more effective way of getting rid of him? Also yes.</p><p>Cyborg’s arm formed into a cannon, and Red-X felt himself sinking on the inside. What else was he expecting from the guy who could turn half his body into a weapon at any time? Seriously?</p><p>Well, it was definitely something he had been concerned about prior to the fight; but now it was a real threat. He fought against the wisp of fear, shifting it into raw arrogance instead as he stood up.</p><p>“Come on, kids,” he chirped, holding his hands out into a welcome as he watched Cyborg march forward. He pointed to the X that was across his chest and over his heart. “X marks the spot.”</p><p>And from there, it was nothing but instincts for a while. There was laser fire, animal screams and growls, bolts of energy both from him and the girls; but no Robin anywhere in between. It was a giant mess; a web of movements driven only by his will to not be touched by anything they threw at him.</p><p>Red-X flipped up onto a large box, his heartbeat so violent it almost hurt. But rather than being painful, he just felt like he was on top of the world. All he had to do was keep this up until they got tired, then he’d be home free.</p><p>Just as he considered that thought--looking down at the confused quartet--their missing member tackled him off of the box he was standing on.</p><p>He threw Robin off his body, then rolled up onto his hands before flipping back onto his feet. Robin threw a batara-</p><p>Correction, that wasn’t a batarang. It looked more like a ‘birdarang’.</p><p>Well, he <em>was</em> a Robin.</p><p>Red-X disappeared in an instant, ducking out of the way of Robin’s projectile and moving behind him. He threw a fist towards Robin, only to have Robin dodge, counter, and then begin his own barrage of attacks when Red tried to avoid him. Robin began to corner him, and in response, he slammed his fist into the side of Robin’s face; his hand shaking in the brief moment before he flipped over him and went to kick him in the face.</p><p>Robin caught his foot, and flipped him right back over.</p><p>Fighting the others had been effective and quick; but Robin was too close to an equal in terms of combat. That concern only became more and more real in each movement they took against the other.</p><p>He had come in expecting Robin to be a lot better, and yet he had still managed to underestimate him. He was still a lanky ass kid with limbs too long for his body, but now there was more muscle in places where it had been scarcer before.</p><p>That all meant he’d have to fight harder.</p><p>Robin grabbed his face, and threw him back into another box. Red-X growled, glaring at Robin as he started to breathe hard. Some part of him seemed genuinely ticked off, and Red-X couldn’t stop himself from smirking at Robin’s play in intimidation. It didn’t matter if Robin was just a step away from leaving a bad bruise on him or not; he was going to get a quick refresher on his own creation.</p><p>“Who are you?” Robin snapped, leaning a tad bit closer.</p><p>He was so many different fucking things; but right now, he was just one; and it wasn’t wholesome or kind or friendly.</p><p>“If I wanted you to know, would I be wearing a mask?” Red-X asked back. He grabbed Robin’s wrists and sent waves of energy up his arm.</p><p>Was it even safe? He didn’t think about that while Robin launched back into the collection of boxes. He didn’t think when he willingly threw himself back into the fight with the other titans, either. Instead he was high on hype.</p><p>There was a point when he began and the character stopped, but he couldn’t remember it. In fact, he sank so deeply into the adrenaline that his mind blanked out. When clarity returned--very much real and domineering, Robin was chasing him through the warehouse, and Red-X now had the scanner in hand.</p><p>He shot out a string of energy behind him, and the heavy thud of Robin falling came to his ears. He whirled around to watch Robin squirm on the floor; his lip split and dripping blood. Red-X flexed his free hand, glaring down at Robin.</p><p>When did he get that?</p><p>Red-X had his own wounds to consider, but he didn’t let his posture show it; instead, he spun the device in his hand like it was a toy, thinking about the way blood stained the boy’s teeth.</p><p>Robin frowned harder, his breathing becoming heavier as he continued to fight against his restraint. He had never seen him frown so hard before, and somehow that anger was just as gratifying as when he stole something.</p><p>“Better luck next time, <em>Kid</em>,” Red-X teased, shoving the scanner in to join the other equipment in his utility belt. He reached to press the cloaking system on his belt. “And thanks for the suit.”</p><p>Except it didn’t activate; instead it sparked with bolts of electricity.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-</em>
</p><p>“Come on,” he muttered, his voice rushed as he kept pressing the button and Robin, like the determined fuck he was, moved forward to keep fighting. “Oh for <em>fucks- </em>Come on!”</p><p>Hearing Robin snap the rope of energy was like being punched in the face.</p><p>“Great,” he said in a deadpan voice. Then, like every sane person who had ever met Batman and/or associates, he bolted.</p><p>Robin gave chase without hesitation, but Red-X only ran faster; climbing up the boxes near an open window and jumping out onto the roof the second he could.</p><p>Red-X cursed mentally, trying to fix the button without slowing down. Even as a tech-loving person, <em>this</em> was a definite problem; he couldn’t outpace him and fix the button at the same time. And even now, Robin was already gaining ground on him. There wasn’t even enough roof for him to continue running so much, either.</p><p>Robin made a desperate lunge, and Red-X jumped up before he could connect. He pressed the button again, and this time, his body flickered between transparency and solidity. He started to blend into the world as if it was his natural place.</p><p>He let out a sigh of relief and smirked, sticking his tongue out from beneath the mask as he hit the roof again and kept running. Sure, Robin couldn’t see it, but he enjoyed the thought nonetheless.</p><p>“Catch ya’ later,” he mocked as he finally faded away into the background. Robin only seemed to turn red in the face--which was strange really, considering that he was pretty tan--as Red-X leaped off the building and out of reach from the rest of the team.</p><p>And even with the mishaps with the suit, it was a successful venture; he might have retreated and technically lost, but he also outsmarted the biggest heroes on this side of the coast and still completed his goal. Now, all he had to do was get the Xenothium and he’d be set.</p><p>Except, that would have to wait until after he had gotten good sleep, fixed the pending issue of his utility belt, and had done a bit more research on it all.</p><p>Still, being Red-X was nothing but fun; he got to do whatever he wanted and there were no repercussions behind any of it because no one could stop him. While Morgan was some fucking nobody, Red-X was so much more.</p><p>He was gray; unpredictable and making his own route in a method that even he didn’t understand. He was just as he was always supposed to be; what he had always shoved back in favor of approval and connection.</p><p>And it felt perfect.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <strong>As I'm writing this, this is the only finished chapter of this story--mostly due to this being a rushed process--and I currently do not have other chapters completed.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>However, Three Strikes contains three major arcs (currently 2012-2015, 2017-2018, and 2019) and Strike One has had most of its plot figured out by now and is estimated to be roughly 16 chapters long.  Once Strike One has been written, the fic will be uploaded every Friday.  Additionally, this chapter may have tweaks and other changes later on.<br/> <br/>TL;DR: This fanfic is not yet completely written, but when it has been, will upload every Friday in accordance to the arc.  This chapter may also face later changes when that point comes.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>So, if you've somehow stuck through the first chapter and disclaimer, hi!</p><p>I haven't published my fanfic work publicly (other than personal spaces) in over five years, so I've been really hesitant to upload my work.  But I decided to finally give it a try with Three Strikes because I've recently tapped into a love for Batman and DC as a whole.</p><p>I personally enjoy Teen Titans, Telltale's Batman, and other animated media from DC, so a number of these elements will be put together to make up this universe, as it isn't completely dependent on the available information of the 2003 animated series.  What is taken from the comics is a mix of Pre-52, New 52, and personal headcanons.</p><p>I appreciate comments!  And please don't be scared to check out my Tumblr at https://the-middle-grounds.tumblr.com/ because I talk updates, draw characters from the story, and once in a while write something funny.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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